


Foggy Days

by rainydaysanddustybooks94



Series: A Trip to the Trees [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydaysanddustybooks94/pseuds/rainydaysanddustybooks94
Summary: They've been on this trip long enough to fall into a rhythm. Long enough for there to be a rhythm to disrupt, when Crowley wakes up with limbs twitching restless energy, and a mind screaming to runrunrun.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Trip to the Trees [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764409
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This continues to be a series of short one-shots of Crowley and Aziraphale on a trip, post-NotApocalypse, with Crowley, as a character. Doesn't have to be read with the other shorts, but it's technically a continuation from them.

It’s one of those days. It was a false hope that on this vacation, the ills of the past wouldn’t come back to haunt him. Crowley lurched out of bed, scrambling for what, he never remembered- safety? Aziraphale? He stood there trembling, picking up shadows of shapes in the early morning light. Panic ripped through his mind as he struggled to catch his breath, struggled to hold himself still.

The bed creaked as Aziraphale rolled over then sat up. Crowley knew that if he looked over, Aziraphale would be watching him, forehead creased with worry. The angel had been with him long enough to know what was going on, and how to handle it. The nightmare was the start of it. The days when Crowley’s mind felt weighed down and cloudy, when he alternated between teary distress and restless snappishness. When he couldn’t see how anything would ever be okay, after what had happened to him. To them.

Eventually, Crowley crawled into bed and into Aziraphale’s open arms. A quiet voice in his head told him not to inconvenience his angel, that just because Crowley loved Aziraphale enough to sit through any panic or nightmares, didn’t mean he should force Aziraphale to do the same. But the warmth of the hug and the rumble of the Aziraphale’s soft hum were too heady a call. They told him he was safe. Aziraphale was safe.

He didn’t know how long it had been before the angel shifted him over.

“I’m going to make breakfast then bring it back, darling. You stay here and relax,” Aziraphale murmured, smoothing a palm over Crowley’s hair. He bit back a sob, scrunching his face up against a sudden well of tears. He hated the fragility, the vulnerability, more than anything. He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t reject him but it didn’t stop the niggling, nagging fear, or the visceral rawness as though he’d peeled away his own skin, ribs, and handed away his bare heart. It was always so hard to hide that secret love when he was like this. All he wanted was to cling to the angel, apologize for the mess, and beg him never to leave.

The room was quiet, but he could hear Aziraphale puttering in the kitchen. No stovetop breakfast. No candles. Nothing with fire today. No purple in sight. The smallest things were triggers, and they never found out until after he’d been sent into a spiralling panic. Once, a light breeze blew in from outside, and just that- the temperature change- had left Crowley nearly catatonic from the flashback. Something about it had reminded him of Heaven, waiting to be pushed into the Hellfire. Just thinking about it left Crowley shaking, tugging on his hair.

“Oh, dearest…” Aziraphale whispered from the doorway. “Come on, focus on me. I am here, and so are you.” Aziraphale sat back into the bed, and sat the breakfast down by the foot of it. “Come on, come back to me here.”

_I am here. I am safe. I am here. I am safe._

Oh, he hated this.

With a shuddering breath, he drew himself upright and into Aziraphale. Aziraphale reached for his hand, gripping it tightly, and with his other, he pushed back Crowley’s hair, holding his head just a moment. Blue eyes traveled across his face, taking in the emotion and pallor.

“Come now,” he said thickly. “Breakfast. I put together toast with cinnamon sugar and a bowl of berries for us to nibble on.” Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, they reached out and carefully began eating their meal. As they nibbled, Aziraphale chattered about bees, and how they danced to communicate. That turned into how humans danced to tell stories. Then how humans told stories in general. Which, of course, turned into Aziraphale’s book collection, and those he had chosen to carry along on their trip, and those he had left behind.

Crowley, himself, let the angel’s voice wash over him and through him. The comfort meal, the quiet air, and the angel’s voice all soothed some of the rough edges around his panic. It was a start to healing. The first step taken. He set down his mug, and unthinkingly, kissed Aziraphale’s temple. The panic flared-  
_You go too fast You go too fast-_  
but Aziraphale flashed a smile at him, reached for his hand, and continued to talk about the merits of classic literature over modern literature. The thumb swept back and forth over the back of his hand and Crowley relaxed into it.

Eventually, though, it came to a stop. By now, the sun was high in the sky, the fog gone, and Crowley was getting antsy again. He could feel the scream building in his bones, the terror lighting back across his memories.

“Angel,” he interrupted flatly, roughly. The first time he’d spoken yet. Aziraphale stuttered to a halt, and looked at him carefully. Crowley continued,

“I think I’m going to take a shower, and then….” His shoulder twitched as he thought of the best way to get rid of the restless energy that told him they weren’t safe. “Maybe a walk? Down to the sea?” Aziraphale smiled gently.

“I’d like that, darling. It sounds like a pleasant way to spend the day. After, maybe, we could come back and you’d be so gracious as to let me read to you? I must say, this new book I'm reading is remarkably lovely.” Crowley nodded jerkily.

“Sure, could do that,” he mumbled, ducking his head. His shoulders twitched. Aziraphale beamed, before reaching out and hugging him tightly. The pressure helped. Crowley went weak, falling into the angel. The pressure helped a lot.

“Go on, go shower. Then we’ll spend our day as we wish, safe from them, with no one but us for the journey,” Aziraphale encouraged. Crowley cringed at that, mumbling under his breath. For a moment, he bit back a snarl of disgust. Spend the day as they wished. Right. Aziraphale wanted to spend his day looking after a panicked demon, instead of how they intended- visiting the tiny bookstore in town, going to dinner, and taking a stroll past the sheep. Aziraphale seemed to catch the thought anyways, despite him not saying anything. The angel grabbed his shoulders, kissed his forehead.

“Crowley,” he said firmly. “I’m spending my day how I wish- with you. Everything else is... oh, what’s the phrase? The frosting on the cake. And you are a very lovely cake, my dear.”

Crowley blushed. The restless anxiety gnawed at his ribs and his mind, but with Aziraphale at his side, he knew he’d be okay. With his angel safe, he had all he truly needed.


	2. A Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the foggy day, Crowley realizes it might be time to consider something.

Nighttime had hit, and Aziraphale had lit the low-level lights throughout their little cottage. Crowley had come home, taken his second shower for the day, then crawled back into bed. It had been an extraordinarily long day, for not doing much, and he was exhausted down to his bones. The sheets were cool against his skin, and out the window he could hear crickets chirping, owls hooting, and the distant roar of the sea. The anxiety and fear were gone, but in their place was the sludgy weariness. 

Aziraphale took a short time before joining him, sitting up where Crowley was lying flat. He smiled sadly at Crowley, who ducked his head into the pillow. He knew, he knew the angel wasn’t upset about the change in plans that day, or about the emotions Crowley caused in him, but it still wasn’t ...Everything was still off. Sometimes- well, more than sometimes, he still worried about what vulnerabilities were okay to bare, and what were not. Stories about Before? Good. Always left Aziraphale smiling and petting his hair. Telling Aziraphale that Crowley loved him, loved him more than the stars he hung, or more than humanity, or more than he missed Her love? Not Good. Aziraphale still waffled when it came to outright signs of affection and hadn’t ever said anything about his feelings more than that mumbled bit about  _ their  _ side. So letting himself feel that visceral fear and anxiety in front of Aziraphale? Letting himself ask for help? Not easy, and very nerve-wracking. 

“‘m sorry ‘bout today, angel,” he mumbled into the pillow. Aziraphale sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. It was heavy, but gentle, and made sure to run through the whole of his hair before starting over. With a wordless gesture, he got Crowley to roll over so his head was pressed against his hip, one arm slung over his legs. Crowley sighed, forcing himself to relax. What he wouldn’t give to press one kiss, just against that bare bit of flesh between the bottom of the nightshirt and the hem of the sleep pants. He wouldn’t, though. He couldn’t. 

“Crowley, I have said this before and I will say it as often as you need to hear it. Do not apologize for having been affected by the trauma we went through. It was traumatic. I know that, and I know you know that. Would you begrudge me my new mannerisms?” Aziraphale asked archly. Crowley was shaking his head before the question had ended. It was less often than Crowley, but Aziraphale had his own bad days, too. 

“No, angel. Of course I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly, lifting his head to meet his eyes. Aziraphale raised one brow, tapping him firmly on the forehead, as if to say,  _ see?  _

“Then do not begrudge yourself the same,” Azirphale said firmly. Crowley fell silent, rolling over so he faced the angel’s feet. The hand took up residence on his skull again, repetitively running down his hair. 

“You need to be kinder to yourself. And trust me to support you when you need support,” Aziraphale murmured, still stroking Crowley’s hair. Crowley hummed, thinking. Maybe...maybe he could tell Aziraphale how he felt, and it wouldn’t ruin everything. Maybe the angel wouldn’t be horrified, or terrified, or…Well, no matter what, he didn’t think the angel would be  _ disgusted.  _ He didn’t think Aziraphale would claim it was just another of his temptations, or that he  _ couldn’t  _ love… 

The hand tightened in his hair briefly, and Crowley realized his breath had started to speed up. He gripped Aziraphale’s knee, and tried to focus on breathing again. Quietly, Aziraphale reached for a book and began reading aloud. Poetry. Light, simple poems, less about human nature than the beauty of nature itself. Slowly, he relaxed again. Well, he wouldn’t think of it tonight, but maybe it could be something to think about, on this vacation. 

Slowly, he began to drift off to the soothing weight of the angel’s hand on his hair and the low rumbling of his voice as he read one poem, then the next. He felt as though he were rocking back and forth, waves of the sea, swirling into one spiral of starry golden dust, then another, until he no longer felt the body underneath him, nor the bed, until he no longer heard the angel’s voice or the critters chittering…. 


End file.
